I Grieve
by MuseOfFire527
Summary: Set directly after the events in the film. In the heat of the moment they began to realize their feelings for each other. Now he is in mourning and she is there to fill the void left behind. Brand new to the fandom, desperately seeking beta!


I Grieve

_I grieve for you  
You leave me  
Let it out and move on  
Missing what's gone  
They say life carries on  
They say life carries on and on and on_

_-Peter Gabriel_

Amanda Grayson's mother died when her son was twelve years old. He recalled now, with disturbing clarity, the color draining from her face as she watched the message appear, the closing of her bedroom door, the deep shuddering sobs that seemed to shake the very foundations of their home.

They had been playing a game. An old Terran card game called "Go Fish" that Spock found not only illogical but decidedly boring. He played without complaint because it made her smile. He had lived then to see that smile.

Then the view screen let out its soft beep.

He remembered his deep confusion at her reaction. He had not known his second foremother. The Grayson family had disapproved of Amanda's marrying the Vulcan ambassador. Her subsequent decision to make her permanent home on his planet did nothing to improve a relationship already strained to the breaking point.

He suspected that she continued to send word to Terra, but to his knowledge the Grayson's had never responded.

His instinct had been to go to her. Offer comfort. But logic told him that if she had wanted him she would not have shut the door. Still he wished to make himself accessible so he stood just outside, hands folded behind him as he'd often seen his father stand, waiting.

He stood that way for two hours. He marked the time with the setting of the suns outside. After approximately forty-two minutes and fourteen seconds her crying had ceased. Still she did not come out or call for him.

Finally he heard his father's step in the hall and felt the familiar hand on his shoulder.

"A message from Earth." He said "It seems my second foremother was afflicted with an acute cardiomyopathy. She did not survive the treatment."

The grip on his shoulder tightened.

"She has not come out for some time." He looked up at the impassive face and saw with no small surprise that his father's eyes were much brighter than was normal. "I did not wish to intrude."

"You were wise to remain close by my son. I will go to her now."

Sarek closed the door behind him but Spock remained where he was, listening for a moment. He heard their voices rise and fall, his father's gentler then he ever recalled hearing it before. When he had heard enough to ensure she was receiving all the comfort she required he returned to the sitting room and collected the playing cards.

***

It was a common human misconception that Vulcan's had no emotions. It was a stereotype he had been aware of all his life. And until this moment he had no wish for it to be true.

Meditation did not help. No amount of breathing or mantra quelled the silence. That silence could be so deafening was the height of contradiction.

Stillness in place of the calming murmur of that beloved voice.

She was gone.

An aching emptiness. Yes there was real, physical pain. His head was filled with it. He sat and tried to fill the blackness with…anything. Memories of what had passed over the last several days. His suicidal mission to Nero's ship. Pike's rescue. Jim Kirk's hand gripping his. The two of them standing side by side on the transporter. The tentative beginnings of a friendship. Anything to fill the nothing in his mind.

Still the blackness spread before him and he began to think he would go mad if he could not begin to fill the void.

She was gone.

He could not remember a time when she had not been with him. From the moment of his birth he had been aware of her, the gentle warmth of her mind joined effortlessly with his.

That such a thing could happen between a human and her half Vulcan offspring had baffled the doctor's no end. It was quite normal for Vulcan parents to bond in such a way with their children but that a fragile, inadequate human mind could manage such a thing was all but unimaginable.

She had simply always been there. Not intrusive, never that, but comforting when he was unsure, exaulting at his successes, sharing in the inevitable sadness when he was cut down by those who should have been his peers.

She was gone.

Such a simple statement to encapsulate such a great loss.

His mother was gone.


End file.
